


the night is coming to an end

by orphan_account



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her smile makes something warm bloom in her stomach. She doesn’t analyse it, but she doesn’t push it away either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the night is coming to an end

Riley visits her almost as frequently as Capheus does; both of them are warm where she is not and while she wonders why they stay with her, it’s so very clear how well they balance her out. Like Kala and Wolfgang, the calm and the storm. Like Lito and Hernando, passion and pragmatism.

Riley is quieter in her optimism than Capheus, whose smile is so bright sometimes it makes Sun’s eyes burn. She loves him in a way she has never loved her brother; loves his loud singing and gentle hands and unashamed adoration for his mother. But there are moments where he’s too much, where she sees his endless joy and finds herself lacking; sees herself, next to him, snarling where he is grinning, helping his mother whereas she could not help hers, could not help her father.

“His sister,” Riley points out, sitting next to her on Nomi's sofa while Nomi makes them herbal tea (the type her girlfriend likes; Nomi's a devout coffee lover), her shoulder a steady pressure against hers. She’s right, Sun knows; Capheus had felt helpless then, leaving his sister, as she does now, left by her brother.

“She may be still alive.”

“I hope she is,” Riley says, so earnest it makes Sun ache.

“Me too,” she responds, after a brief silence. She sees Riley’s husband and daughter in the back of her mind and, without thinking, grasps her hand gently, interlinking their fingers.

“Thank you,” Riley says, barely a whisper.

“Thank you,” Sun echoes back.

+

Riley knows how to sew; she does it with a fluidity that Sun could never achieve, doesn’t have the patience to. Sun yearns for the outside air, the smell of paint, a privilege just recently re-earned. Riley, however, enjoys working the sewing machine.

“My father taught me,” she says fondly; Sun feels the love in those words as if he were her own father. “He was not very good; I inherited my talent from my mother, apparently.”

“Do you remember her?” Sun asks. She remembers her own mother like she had seen her only yesterday. She remembers how her dark eyes were always kind; when she looks at herself in the mirror, she sees how hers are not the same. Hers are like her father's.

“Not well, I was young when she passed. Younger than you were.” Her fingers pause in their work. “Sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Sun replies softly. “You are in my head, after all.”

“I like being— being with you.” Riley laughs abruptly, though swiftly quiets herself. “It’s so bizarre, but, no, it’s. Your mind, it’s calming. It has the same kind of effect music has on me, it— it makes my head settle.”

“I’m glad to be of assistance,” and she hears her voice turn gentler. They’re all protective of Riley, in their own way, and she truly is glad she can help her, if only a little.

“As am I,” Riley responds, finishing their work off.

+

Riley kisses her, at night in her cell, when they are alone. Her hair is a shock of brightness against the concrete; she spots the blood on the walls and Sun’s bruised knuckles, lets her eyes linger every time and tries not to imagine shattered glass. Sun does her best to distract her from it.

Riley kisses her softly, like she fears she might break. It would amuse Sun, because she may be torn at the edges but she is not delicate. Riley isn’t either, despite her tired eyes and trembling hands; she’s strong in different ways, in how she keeps going, in how she fights against the weariness in her bones and the memories that haunt her.

Riley kisses her sweetly, like Sun deserves it. Little things she does, that makes Sun breathless in odd, sentimental ways she didn’t think she was capable of. The shy, happy flutter of her eyelids; her smile just after they break apart, so close to her that’s impossible not to return it, if only slightly; her lips pressed against her temple before she leaves her alone in her cell to sleep.

“You must sleep,” she insists, like she knows that Sun spends most her nights restless and angry, staring at the walls until the itch in her fists becomes too much. And, of course, she does know.

“To regain your strength, at least. If you are worn out and weak, where will that leave us non-fighters, huh?” It’s unsurprising, that Riley could only be manipulative in a way that is kind and selfless.

Sun snorts. “Dead, probably.”

“Exactly!” Riley says, bumping their shoulders. “And then who would do your sewing?”

Sun huffs out a laugh. “Fine,” she says.

She does manage to sleep, if only for three hours, and she did make an effort; the rest of them were there too, helping her. Capheus put his radio on low, to fill the jarring silence in her head, and Wolfgang chain-smoked by his friend’s bedside, despite it being banned in the hospital, because the taste of nicotine puts her bones at rest. 

Sun thinks Riley might be disappointed— three hours, barely anything— but when she sees her the next morning, she grins bright and proud, and Sun remembers that Riley knows how it is. Riley is hopeful, but not naïve and not without her own struggles, and she understands. 

Her smile makes something warm bloom in her stomach. She doesn’t analyse it, but she doesn’t push it away either.


End file.
